


delirium

by loserrobin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon verse, Fluff, Intimacy, Love Confessions, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserrobin/pseuds/loserrobin
Summary: Concept : Jon gets sick at the Wall and Sam helps the maester take care of him… leading to a delirious confession from Jon.Setting : Canon verse.Warning : Love confession, fluff, a little intimacy. Typical talk of people being sick, non-graphic.Word Count : 1000.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Samwell Tarly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	delirium

**Author's Note:**

> Join in on the Jon/Sam appreciation! ; ]

A sickness has fallen across Castle Black, an invisible blade infecting the men one by one. Maester Aemon heaves a heavy sigh, unimpressed with the groans of complaint as he takes care of the sick. Sam manages to escape this fate, watches his fellow brothers fall victim to high fevers and bouts of spewing that makes him go green in the face with sympathy.

When the worst of it has passed, Sam breathes in relief. Very few have remained unaffected and being asked to help their Maester had been exciting when it came to learning from the experience, but dreadful when it came to the sneers and temperaments of disgruntled patients. Then Jon had, surprisingly, fallen into the mess near the end.

“Wash his face,” Maester Aemon advises,” before you place a cold cloth on his head.”

Sam does as instructed, although he’s done this enough times now to go through the motions blindfolded (not that he’d risk such a feat, he’s still nervous about handling some of the medicine vials, delicate and breakable glass containers). Jon is prone on his bed, swathed in furs to keep the bitter cold from settling deeper into him, eyes closed, but brow scrunched. His first touch is light, a gentle dab on each temple, swiping firmer down cheek to chin, one side then the next. Jon makes a tiny noise at the wipe against his nose, around his lips, expression smoothing out on instinct once the cloth travels between his eyes.

Sam shouldn’t be fascinated by the reactions, but he finds that he is. Soaking and draining the cloth again, he brings the clean, folded material back to rest on Jon’s forehead. The fever had burned bright when he’d checked an hour before and Sam is certain it will continue to blister throughout the rest of the night.

“The Lord Commander has need of me now… will you be alright watching over him?”

“Aye,” Sam doesn’t have to think about it, would have insisted to stay.

Maester Aemon entrusts him with Jon’s care and the moment the door closes with a soft _thump_ , Sam is left with nothing, but his thoughts and Jon’s sleeping form. He’s been in this room before, plenty of times he’s met Jon outside the door for breakfast. It’s strange, he feels, to be here now without proper company.

_His furs are soft_ , thought as a hand brushes over the top of the bed.

Sam does not expect his hand to be grabbed, startling worse than a crow fleeing a prowling cat. By the will of the gods, he doesn’t shriek, wide eyes darting from a clasping hand, up an arm and finally meet dark grey eyes, dark enough to be compared to black gemstones.

“J-Jon,” he breathes out, astonishment in his voice. “I thought you were fast asleep.”

An assumption that should be correct considering Maester Aemon had him drink the milk of the poppy. Sam is worried for a moment that it wasn’t enough, that while Jon’s body had failed fighting off sickness, it was strong and resistant to the medicine.

“Sam,” Jon calls out, voice slurred as if he’s drunk on ale. “Sam, ‘s hot.”

“It’s not hot, you’re sick. You have to stay covered and rest.”

Dazed eyes squint against those words. “Too warm.”

Sam tries not to laugh, but he can’t help smiling. He uses his unrestrained hand to pat an exposed wrist, discreetly fixing the shirt sleeve that’s started rolling up. “It’s going to be okay, Jon. I’ll be by your side for most of the night to watch over you. Maester Aemon taught me how to care for you.”

A voice filled with awe inquires,” For me?”

A flush comes to Sam’s cheeks, a little bashful at the question. He wanted Jon to be safe and to become better as quickly as possible. It felt wrong to leave him here like he’d done with the others ; except for Pyp who had whined for him to stay until he’d fallen asleep when the medicine took effect.

“I’ll stay all night if I have to.”

A sound resembling a whine breaks passed Jon’s lips, fingers flexing over Sam’s hand, gripping tighter in a firm squeeze. “Want... you to stay.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Sam promises, will happily fall asleep in this uncomfortable. wooden chair by Jon’s bedside if it keeps Jon happy.

“Hand feels nice,” Jon speaks, a fingertip rubbing against a knuckle.

Sam has forgone wearing gloves with the foresight of checking on Jon’s fever again, tingling where their skin caresses. He doesn’t pull away, watching the gentle motion of Jon’s finger. He feels a flame start to spread from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck, reddened skin not caused by the cold. By the actions and pronounced slur, Sam knows this delirium is a result of exhaustion and milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” a confused response.

_Yours are rough_ , Sam doesn’t say. He can feel the calluses rub against his skin, an estranged thought of what they’d feel like against his lips flashing into existence then wrestled away. He almost reels his hand back, embarrassed by his own thinking.

“Love you,” Jon says, clearer than any of his previous words.

Heart lurching in his chest, Sam does pull his hand away this time in shock. “I… Jon, you are not talking with a right mind right now.”

“Love you,” is repeated, sadder in tone.

“I care for you,” Sam can’t deny that truth. Jon was his first friend, the first person he could trust when he came to the Wall, the first person who’d stood up for him. There was an affection there, shining stronger with every passing day they spent together. “I truly do, Jon. You… You should rest.”

“Stay.” Jon’s mouth and eyes both plead, fingers stretching out against the furs that cover him, seeking Sam out.

Hesitation clouds him for only a moment. Then Sam retakes Jon’s hand.

“I’m here, Jon. Please rest.”

Jon sleeps peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like fic like this, check out my other works and profile! You can find me on twitter and tumblr under the same @.


End file.
